


a good man is hard to find

by MarquisdeDiscotheque, Zsazsa4



Series: rat girl summer [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, midlife crises abounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarquisdeDiscotheque/pseuds/MarquisdeDiscotheque, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zsazsa4/pseuds/Zsazsa4
Summary: In which Fitzjames has lost Sir John, Crozier is on the trail of a scammer with some unusual proclivities, and Solomon Tozer just wants to have a good time.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier & Commander James Fitzjames, Commander James Fitzjames/Sgt Solomon Tozer, Cornelius Hickey/Sgt Solomon Tozer
Series: rat girl summer [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877806
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	a good man is hard to find

Crozier had barely moved to ring the bell when the door swung open, nearly hitting him in the face. A biggish, youngish man stood in front of him. He nodded at Crozier. ‘All right?’

Crozier nodded back. He wondered if this was the fabled Solomon, who Fitzjames wouldn’t shut up about. He looked stupid enough. Not at all James’ usual type, who tended to run younger and prettier.

‘I’m-’ Crozier struggled for an explanation, and then hated himself for feeling the need to explain himself to this man at all. ‘I’m expected. James is expecting me, I mean.’ That would be a moment that would play in his head when sleep failed him every night for the rest of his life, or at least until he found something more embarrassing.

‘You coming in then? Someone here for you, James.’ He stood aside to let Crozier in and then left, shutting the door heavily behind him. Crozier was surprised, a little, by the accent - Fitzjames hadn’t mentioned that. Too busy waxing lyrical about the man’s arse, mainly. The voice sounded like it was being produced by some mechanical apparatus from deep inside his chest. No, not at all his usual type, whom James tended to unearth from renowned auction houses and art history courses - or failing that, from the lower ranks of his own firm.

‘Come in, Francis,’ James called. He was sitting in his kitchen, looking flushed and a little tired. Not that it had stopped him from donning a perfectly ridiculous dressing gown, and apparently nothing underneath. ‘Tea?’

‘Yes, please. He wasn’t just dropping off the coke this time, then?’

Fitzjames’ expression went soppy for a moment. In another person, Crozier might think it was love. But James’ passions came and went quickly. Crozier envied him that. ‘No, cock delivery this time. Rather than coke.’

‘I understood, thank you. Does he give you a discount?’

‘You’re very sour today. Work? Or an approximation of a personal life?’

Crozier sat down with a heavy thump, and gave the tea half a glance. He eyed the liquor cabinet with a longing that Fitzjames pretended not to see, but set to pouring whatever floral shit Fitzjames had boiled for him this time.

‘That bad, eh?’ Crozier noticed that Fitzjames seemed less chirpy than usual; the lines around his eyes and mouth had a tightness to them at odds with whatever glamorous sexual activity he’d presumably just been enjoying.

‘Work,’ Crozier said. ‘But I can’t tell you an awful lot about it. Yours? You look like death. Unless it’s your young man wearing you out. Can’t keep up?’

Fitzjames huffed, shook his head. ‘Don’t project onto me, Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier.’

Fitzjames had never realised that simply saying Crozier’s full name did not necessarily make for a funny joke. Crozier bristled at it.

‘Well.’ Fitzjames set his cup down. ‘If you must know, we have lost Sir John. Damned nasty business.’

‘You’ve… lost him? Christ, James, has he died?’ He couldn’t be as old as all that, not much older than Crozier himself. Fatter, yes, but less pickled.

‘Oh, God no. We lost him to the financial ombudsman. He tried the old turn up, understand nothing, block assets quick manoeuvre one too many times.’

‘You lot do like that one. Glad they’re getting wise to it.’ 

‘You would be. We’re not all saints, Francis. It’s been a real drain - he left me in charge of his bloody awful mess, and I’ve spent the last week trying to sort everything out.’ 

Crozier had very little love for Franklin, but Fitzjames did look down. It might be kind to distract him. ‘We’re dealing with a real little twister at work at the moment. Might entertain you.’

Fitzjames raised an eyebrow. He seemed vaguely animated for the first time since Crozier had come in, eyes bright. Well, James always did love a bit of trouble. ‘Go on.’

Crozier knew he lacked that particular showy flair which gilded Fitzjames’ stories. He was more a Hemingway than a Wilde, more content to barter with economy and to tuck himself away into corners. Nevertheless. It’d been a ridiculous few weeks at work, and Fitzjames would enjoy it.

‘The scams themselves seemed fairly standard, at first. Selling old ladies timeshares in Hawaii in return for their life savings, that sort of thing, and a remarkably inept boiler room scheme. Boiler room fraud is not usually supposed to involve plumbing, but he may just be very... literal. Some nastier stuff. We managed to trace the phone calls to a rather nice house in Lavender Hill, a family house, usually they operate out of cut-price office space or something. But he’d managed to rig the wires to their garden shed, and you’d not believe the state of it. It was-’ Crozier paused, aware that if he talked more he’d probably be breaking some clause or other in his employment contract. But Fitzjames did look sad. Even his hair looked sad, all limp. And he liked a good stupid story. ‘- well, first of all we found a damp mattress and a load of these soft pornography daddy mags.’ Before Fitzjames could interject, Crozier added, ‘Jopson explained the concept, thank you.’

Fitzjames fought back a smile. ‘Well, he would know, wouldn’t he?’

Crozier held up a hand. ‘Leave that thought there, please. I do have to work with him.’

‘So, to clarify, you caught a second-rate scammer with a thing for-’

‘Don’t say it. But that’s just it, James. We didn’t catch him. He’s an elusive little bastard, and what’s more a serial identity thief. An unorthodox one, though. Driver’s licenses all over the place, there’s more to it than taking out loans in his neighbours’ names. All fairish gingery blokes, so I wonder if he’s an unusually literal identity thief as well. Or he just has a type.’ 

Fitzjames laughed, delighted. ‘A useless gay scammer with a thing for daddies? You’d better watch out, Francis, he might have an eye on you.’ He raked his eyes over Crozier’s greying hair, his tired face, with something approaching fondness.

‘Mmm. IDs suggest 20-40, so a little young for me. We can’t both have younger criminal boyfriends.’

At this Fitzjames smirked. Criminal was a bit strong, he chose to believe. But he was thoroughly entertained by it all, and remembered how much he enjoyed Crozier’s company when the man wasn’t being a moody old bastard. He pursed his lips, adjusted his gown. ‘So what did you think of Solomon?’

‘Um. Quite the midlife crisis you’re having, James.’

‘You’re one to talk,’ Fitzjames said, needled.

‘I’m well past midlife. You’ve got all this to come.’ Crozier seemed slightly cheered by that thought.

‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,’ Fitzjames said, doomily and theatrically.

Crozier rolled his eyes and wished for the upteenth time that the liquor cabinet would move a little bit nearer to him. Or that he’d had the foresight to have something before visiting. He felt guilty, always, because he knew James could tell, but James’ worry had been less and less effective. Now he was suffering for those last dregs of restraint.

‘Flowers and poetry aside, James - you might be happier with something a bit more than casual sex with your drug dealer.’

‘An authority on love, are you?’ As soon as he’d said it, Fitzjames realised he’d overstepped the line.

‘I’m well aware of how I must look to you,’ Crozier said. His tone was fairly amiable, all things considered. 

Fitzjames grimaced. ‘No.’ He rested one of his hands on top of Crozier’s, and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Sorry, old thing. ‘ Then he sat back. ‘The rub of it is, I think it is a bit more than just- casual sex, as you so eloquently put it.’

‘Jesus, James, that’s even worse. I wasn’t suggesting you marry the man.’

‘It’s not- well, I don’t- um. You see. Sometimes when I’m with him I do think about being married, which is ridiculous, he hasn’t given me the slightest indication of- but then when I’m alone, I remember that he does irritate me quite a lot, quite a lot of the time, and also I simply can’t face the nightmare of trying to introduce him to anyone. Imagine trying to bring him to Rose Hill.’ He frowned. ‘Does that make sense?’

Crozier shrugged. ‘You’ve almost made me sympathise with him.’

‘I mean, he is my drug dealer. I can’t marry my drug dealer. Can I, Francis?’ A note of panic had crept into his voice.

‘You don’t really sound like you want to marry your drug dealer, which is the more pressing question. Assuming he wouldn’t know enough to insist on a pre-nuptial agreement.’

Fitzjames laughed, bordering on the region of hysteria and hoping not to fall into it entirely. The teacup shook ever so slightly in his hand. Crozier thought that he might even drop it and break it, and that’d be a first. ‘On the plus side, I’ve kicked my drug habit, actually. I only buy it sometimes to make him feel important - he’d never take my money, naturally, so I sometimes buy his coke when he looks a little worse for wear.’ Fitzjames worried his lip. ‘I bought some ketamine, too, but that seems like a young person’s fad.’

‘First of all, I’d suggest that getting rid of your stockpile of Class A drugs is a more urgent issue than your love life. If flushing it down the toilet seems like too much of a waste, perhaps snort it to a schedule? And don’t buy any more.’

Fitzjames could not believe that they were having this conversation in his kitchen. He blinked a few times, but no, nothing had changed or moved.

‘That seems like quite poor advice.’

‘Doesn’t it though,’ Crozier grinned. ‘Well, your choice. I can’t very well offer to take it off your hands. Maybe you could sell it back to him? At a loss, of course.’

Fitzjames gaped at him like a fish.

‘I’m joking, James! Christ, don’t do that.’ He chuckled into his teacup. What a nice afternoon it had become for him, hearing all about his friend’s absolutely dysfunctional love life instead of the other way round for a change. 

***

Solomon Tozer had been having a great day. He’d had a good fuck, a good sleep, another good fuck, a good dinner and a decently empty bus ride to mull over the whole thing. Running into James’ mate had tickled him, as well, he’d been so obviously flustered and put out. He’d be surprised if they’d fucked but he wouldn’t be surprised if the old bloke wanted it. Or wait - maybe that was the Francis that James had always gone on about. Francis. Solomon had no right to mock anyone’s name, but he would be called Francis, wouldn’t he. A properly gay name, that.

However, Tozer’s mood had started to deflate when he reached his bedsit. First of all the lift wasn’t working, and he had to trek up six flights of stairs. And when he’d trekked the six flights, he’d found Hickey sitting at the top.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ he said. ‘I told you to stop turning up like that, it’s weird. Just text me.’ 

Hickey didn’t look at all ashamed of his absolutely weird habit. Tozer wanted him to feel chastened, but the man never was. He simply cocked his head and shrugged.

‘You’re a hard man to find.’

‘No I’m not. I’m in or I’m out. If you ring up I’ll let you know when I’ll be in.’

Hickey rolled his eyes and got to his feet. ‘You going to let me in, now you’re in? I’ve been waiting ages.’ 

‘When did you get here? I’ve been out since last night.’

‘With our friend in Highgate? Have fun?’ Hickey stepped nearer, crowding Tozer as he fumbled with the lock.

‘Oh, come off that. You’ve got no room to talk. I’ll make you a coffee.’

They got in, Tozer still smelling of Fitzjames’ fancy soap. Hickey took to the sofa right away, as if it were indeed his flat and his sofa. Tozer had hinted around asking him to move in often enough, but the man only ever shrugged it off. Didn’t stop him treating it as his own, or turning up unannounced whenever he needed a shower or his washing doing.

True to past form, Hickey waved a plastic bag overflowing with clothes at him. ‘Mind popping these in the washing machine for me?’

‘I’m not running a laundrette,’ Tozer said.

‘It would have to be cock-operated rather than coin-operated, I suppose.’

Tozer eyed Hickey up. He was incorrigible. He should, by all rights, kick him out of the flat at once and change the locks - that was what any normal person would do. But something about the glint in Hickey’s eye, the way he smiled at the end of an insult as if to say it was all a bit of a joke to him, stopped Tozer from thinking straight. ‘You can do it, then. And you should have a shower while you’re at it. You smell all mouldy. Can tell you live in a garage.’ 

‘Mm. Did you sell your man Fitzy anything, then?’ Hickey asked, unperturbed. He ran a hand through his hair - which was plainly in need of a wash - and swung his feet off the end of the sofa. ‘We could do with some cash.’

‘Told you I’d stopped that, didn’t I,’ Tozer said, fiddling with the kettle. ‘I’m on the site weekdays now, I can’t keep ferrying it around for you.’ Tozer’s job had caused some contention between them - it meant that he had a real paycheque, which Hickey enjoyed, and less free time and far less inclination for Hickey’s messing, which he didn’t. 

‘So you’ll do it at weekends, then?’

Tozer sighed and braced himself. ‘Look, Cornelius, I’d rather not do it at all. The money’s not bad but it’s a bit… you know.’ 

Hickey took it better than Tozer had expected, only smiling in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. He was clearly not exactly pleased, but didn’t seem surprised. ‘No matter. I have a different plan.’

Tozer didn’t want to know what this different plan might involve; he could only hope that he was at most peripheral to it. He settled for making them coffee, grimacing when Hickey spilled a little of his. Hickey held it with both hands curled around the mug, as if someone might grab it off him at any moment. 

Feeling that they had - for now - avoided any colossal row, Tozer relaxed into Hickey. He couldn’t work out how sometimes Hickey looked like a drowned rat, all pinched and waxy, and sometimes as he did today. He was beautiful, Tozer had no doubt at this moment. Tozer couldn’t resist - he set his coffee down and pulled Hickey into his lap. 

Hickey made an attempt at annoyance, but he looked secretly quite pleased despite himself. He gasped against Tozer’s ear, deliberately breathy, when Tozer grabbed at his arse. 

‘Can’t keep your hands off.’ 

‘Shove over,’ Tozer said, and swung him round so that they were face to face. Hickey screwed up his face then adjusted his legs, straddling him.

Tozer kissed him then, licking into his mouth. When they stopped for breath, Hickey panted, ‘Do you let him fuck you, Sol?’

Tozer had to stop for a moment to work out who the ‘him’ was, he’d been so engaged in the kissing and having a generally nice time, for once. ‘Don’t think he likes it that way. He hasn’t asked to. What’s it matter, anyway,’ he said, leaning in to try to kiss Hickey again.

Hickey wriggled in Tozer’s arms and turned his cheek away. ‘You’d let him, then?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, confused, then with gradual, delighted comprehension. ‘You getting jealous?’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Hickey said, far too quickly. ‘Jealous of what? You want to see how long he’ll keep having you round now you’re not dealing.’

Tozer rolled his eyes, but the seed of a doubt lingered at the back of his mind. ‘You are jealous.’

‘No, I’m thinking. Perhaps I should meet this man of yours, he’s been snorting enough of my stuff. The three of us could have some fun together.’ Hickey had that wicked glint in his eye that Tozer knew well, and didn’t entirely like. He made a noncommittal grunt that could, maybe, be taken as a yes, if you wanted.

‘There, then,’ Hickey said, leaning back in to kiss at Tozer’s neck and jaw. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’


End file.
